Hello, My Name Is
by Kasarix
Summary: Anthea knows the power behind a name.
1. Alice

**Alice**  
_in which we meet Anthea-of-many-faces_

* * *

Sometimes, she is Alice. Alice is a charmer, with an abundance of wit and a sweet smile. Her attire is always tasteful, her every movement subtly graceful. Insightful and charismatic, she usually manages to make a good impression to all the right people. She wields carefully-crafted words and a pretty smile as one would a lock-picking kit, using them to garner trust and information from others. Beneath her alluring veneer, however, Alice possesses a keen sense of competition. While she often struggles to prevent her competitiveness from becoming a distraction, it allows her to strive for a degree of flawlessness in her work. She supposes that, as Alice, she is both a thief (though what she steals is usually intangible) and a manipulative liar. It is a necessary and common evil, she admits, although she secretly revels in Alice and her brilliant social competence. She reserves Alice for particularly delicate assignments or for necessary forays into the explosive world of socialites and the prominent (but once in a while, she is Alice on an ordinary day, musing about the difference between being alone and being lonely).

Joanna is plain but vivacious. Her liveliness, possibly the most distinguishing thing about her, remains well-hidden beneath a front of passivity and tedium. She remains mostly unadorned, but she wears snaking bracelets of metal chain around both wrists (as a reminder of her trappings of normalcy), half-hidden by long sleeves. She wears formal shirts and pants in simple, neutral colours and screens her impassive face behind her Blackberry or a newspaper, acting the part of a mindless, insipid drone. However, she texts and reads with brisk efficiency and considerably more insight than the average government employee. Indeed, even as she lounges, she is prepared to spring into action at the slightest signal. When she moves, she does so promptly and confidently; yet, in the next instant, she appears docile and ordinary once again. Onlookers may wonder if they really saw the woman move at all. Truly, she likes being Joanna. Joanna is both steady and fierily unpredictable beneath her apparent blandness. She is the perfect way to hide in plain sight.

When she needs indefatigable strength, she can resort to Matilda. Matilda is severe and disciplined, intolerant of humour or play of any sort. She dresses grimly in dark colours and keeps her hair pulled tightly back. Matilda wears a silver cross around her neck as a symbol of steadfast faith (but not the faith most people assume it refers to). Her face is a study in stoicism and her voice and hands are unfaltering despite the daily stress she is confronted with. She is a resilient woman, who neither indulges nor pardons friends and foes alike. Matilda is recourse when she is weathered down, unable to manage an unusually aggravated and remorseless Mr. Holmes (almost always due to worry for or provocation from his younger brother). However, she never remains as Matilda for long. No, with such earth-bound strength comes some degree of hard-headed inflexibility, inevitably leading to fatal mistakes. Despite this, Matilda is the strongest, and she is one of the rare few who can deal with the volatile inferno that is her employer's temper in its entirety without being burned by his flames.

Olivia can only be described as cold and callous. When she is Olivia, people call her "ice queen" as though it should affect her in some way. It doesn't. They really shouldn't expect it to. Olivia is rough and seemingly heartless but remains as diligent about her work as ever, using steely focus to accomplish her tasks without risking emotional compromise or attachment. To this end, Olivia is brisk, callously professional, and ruthless when necessary. She knows how to make others uncomfortable and uses this to great advantage, crafting the uneasiness she engenders in most people into a tool in order to goad, provoke, and coerce her targets. She is not above causing a few people pain in order to maintain the order of society or the government. As Olivia, she operates under the idea that the end justifies the means. She knows that Mr. Holmes is conflicted about her being Olivia (she sees it in the way he is unconsciously harsher and even malicious towards her when she is Olivia, the way he frowns when she arrives at the office with Olivia's stony expression fixed upon her face, the way he steadfastly avoids his own frigid nickname). However, she suspects it would be rather unwise to voice her thoughts on this matter and, accordingly, holds her tongue. She refuses to allow her employer's unusual bias towards Olivia to interfere with her interaction with him or her work (even so, it is a struggle not to flinch when he spits out her name as though it is poison). As such, she does not enjoy being Olivia, but it is an inescapable part of her job.

Occasionally, she entertains the notion of contesting with Mr. Holmes's younger brother as Olivia (just to see who would win in a contest of "not caring" as the man calls it).

Samantha is a colourful ornament for her employer's arm, displayed flashily at parties where people only know of Mr. Holmes as "some minor bureaucrat." Samantha appears an unambitious secretary, with a seemingly empty head and a flirty, freely-given smile. She wears short party dresses and impractically high heels, flitting along at the side of her employer, arm in bangle-covered arm. Without a single visible speck of intrigue about her, she is merely another pretty face in the crowd (even though she knows that she is not the only pretty face in the room that secrets throwing knives under her dress). Her role is to distract and disguise, allowing the two of them to blend into the crowd as yet another negligible government worker and his attractive secretary-turned-date for the evening. Samantha is only skin-deep; after all, she must never be so foolish as to turn a blind-eye to her employer's safety. She does not particularly like being Samantha, especially when she must paint her face so copiously for appearances and smile and laugh so much that it aches afterward. Honestly, she feels exposed in Samantha's short dress and outrageous heels, with only a few knives between her and the world. No, she doesn't like being Samantha at all, but she will do it if it gets the job done.

Most perilously of all, there is Anthea. Anthea is meticulous and spontaneously laconic, but she is ever so competent. She is the one Mr. Holmes trusts to escort his "visitors" to meetings with him from the back of their sleek, black car. After all, Anthea is _very_ clever. She borrows a trick from dear Joanna and keeps her Blackberry glued to her hands at all times before company. They think she isn't paying attention, and they never suspect the true depth of her ability to multitask. Tapping at her mobile continuously with nimble fingers, she maintains a careful watch over certain sensitive government affairs whilst relaying observations of her current guest(s) to her employer. The driver of the car may be different for each visitor, but Anthea is always the one waiting in the backseat.

Anthea takes care of Mycroft Holmes. She is the one who arranges his schedule, makes his tea, and enforces his diet. She is the one who assists him in acquiring a Christmas gift for "Mummy" each year, and she is the one who can divert him when he is on a path to destruction. She is not as strong as Matilda, who uses pure solidity to stop him in his tracks, but she is the only one who can reason with him and emerge victorious. She exudes calmness and quiet humour and is an expert at distraction. It was never part of her job description, but she finds that she would not relinquish this duty for the world (she trusts no one else).

Anthea is dangerous, even if her appearance says nothing more than "high-end personal assistant." She keeps guns and knives on her person at all times, and is a better shot than her employer could ever hope to be. She dresses smartly in all-black with a ring on one finger that serves a purpose similar to Matilda's cross. She knows too many ways of incapacitating a person and has the uncanny ability to turn just about anything into an effective weapon (her heels, for example).

Anthea is dependability intermixed with thrill. Sometimes, she is Anthea, and it is absolutely exhilarating.

Sometimes, she is Alice.

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**Disclaimer:** I certainly do not own any part of BBC's_ Sherlock_ or the original works by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This fanfiction is not being used for profit or other such nefarious purposes.

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**Notes:** So, this is my first foray into the world of _Sherlock. _I don't quite know why I like the character of (Not) Anthea so much...

This will be a multi-chaptered work, but most chapters will likely be standalone stories or drabbles and such. Also, as I live in the US, my knowledge of British customs and lifestyle is rather poor. Feel free to point out my spelling differences, Americanisms, misconceptions, and other general mistakes as well. Any opinion you might provide is quite welcome.

This specific chapter is also an experiment in the stylistic use of parentheses (I normally never use them) and paragraph spacing. I will be trying out many other writing devices in the chapters to come.

Thank you very much for reading!


	2. Cassandra

**Update (8/3-10/12): **This chapter has been edited! I thought I had posted this revised version earlier, but I guess I never did. Thank you very much to TheLastRider for spotting confusion in the story. :)

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**Cassandra  
**_in which Anthea hails from an unconventional family_

* * *

"Why do you work such odd hours, Annie?"

The woman sitting at the kitchen table gave her a sharp glance. "Please refrain from calling me that while you are in London, Mia. Call me Cassandra for today," she said, accepting the teacup from her cousin.

Mia sat down in the seat across from her. "What? But I like calling you Annie." Suddenly, she grinned deviously. "Still, you haven't answered my question, dear cousin. It's only 3 AM. What could you possibly be going to work for this early in the morning? I had better hours even when I was working undercover at that traveling circus across the pond."

"My job is… unusually unorthodox."

"I figured as much, but what exactly do you do? The last time I checked in on you, you were working as an ethical hacker over in Asia. It seemed rather tedious, to me." She wrinkled her nose in thought but then laughed, "It was hilarious to see you following the rules, for once. Anyways, where are you working now?"

The target of her questioning only sighed.

"Come on; don't make me follow you to work to get some answers! I'm sure I could garner some decent information from your coworkers, if I tried."

"That won't be necessary, Mia. I doubt my coworkers would enjoy such an interruption," she responded dryly, setting the empty cup of tea down on the kitchen table.

"Wait- at least tell me what your boss is like!" Snickering, she continued, "I bet he's an absolute delight, if you're so eager to head to work at such an early hour. You're always occupied with that mobile of yours, too. Are you _texting_ your boss?"

Her cousin turned the questions back on her, instead. "Why did _you_ move to America?"

She blushed, scowling, "Hey! Intel gathering got a bit boring after a while, and I like my new job."

"Exactly. As for my employer… well, he's brilliant."

* * *

An immaculately dressed woman walked confidently through the nondescript lobby, easily bypassing all security with her unlabelled card. Though the elevator was only marked for eleven floors, she smoothly gained access to the twelfth with a swipe of the same passcard. Exiting the elevator, she walked down a well-lit, office-lined hallway, heels clicking on the spotless tiled floor. Approaching a particular set of offices, she once again used her passcard to unlock the door and enter. She set her coat and mobile on the arm of one of the chairs in the outer room of the office and went about the morning ritual of preparing tea. After a moment of hesitation, she selected one of the numerous and varied teacups in the overhead cabinet at random and set about making tea exactly the way she remembered her young cousin always making it.

Freshly prepared tea in one hand, she straightened her tidy outfit and approached the door leading to the largest inner office. The woman knocked on the door, holding her breath until she heard a crisp "Come in" sound from within the office. Entering, she approached the large desk covered in papers, laminates, and folders and handed the steaming teacup to the waist-coated man working behind it. "Good morning, sir," she greeted crisply.

The man trained his piercing gaze upon the woman but accepted the tea wordlessly, leaning back in his chair and bringing the rather gaudy teacup to his lips. "Now, what brings you to my office today, Miss Mia Jones? I trust you are enjoying your visit to London?"

The woman's eyes abruptly widened and then narrowed before a scowl overtook her features. "How did you know?" she demanded curiously.

He merely smiled neutrally and gestured towards the solitary chair stationed before his desk. "Please, have a seat."

She threw herself into the seat, abandoning all pretenses in favour of giving him a good glare. Mia's eyebrows rose further in surprise when the object of her glare took an unconcerned sip of the tea she had given him. "How do you know that it's not poisoned?" she asked, perplexed.

He gently set the teacup down in a bare patch on his paper-covered desk and looked up at her with oddly acute eyes. "You used the wrong teacup," he began, answering her questions in order, "you are clearly in London for visiting purposes only, and you did not come here today with the intention of making an attempt upon my life." He smiled at her again and watched bemusedly as she struggled to retain her composure.

"The teacup?" she exclaimed incredulously, "I guess my cousin wasn't exaggerating when she said you were brilliant." She narrowed her eyes again, "Still, how can you possibly know that I'm not trying to kill you? Shouldn't a man of such an important undisclosed career be more worried about assassination attempts?"

He waved a hand dispassionately, "Simply because I observe the details. I assure you that there is a plethora of indicators exposing you as an imposter but not an assassin. Coincidentally, your dear cousin _is_ my personal assistant. She would not have allowed you to enter this building if you were planning to harm me."

"That may be true, but she wouldn't have been able to stop me anyways. She's rather incapacitated at the moment," the woman smirked, regaining a semblance of confidence.

"I think you will find that that is not quite true," the man across from her intoned back, glancing at a spot over her shoulder. At this moment, the door to the office opened and another woman swept calmly in. "Ah, Cassandra! Good morning," he greeted, giving her a small but genuine smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," she replied, her lips curved slightly upwards in return. "Mia," she nodded towards the seated woman. To the untrained eye, the similarity in appearance between the two women was astonishing.

Mia, having turned around to confront the new arrival, was glowering. "Annie."

"Cassandra," Mr. Holmes's personal assistant corrected. The woman walked smoothly to the desk and replaced the cooling tea with another steaming teacup, this one made of fine china embellished only with a lion printed in gold. "Slipping a sedative into the morning tea only works once, dear cousin. And that one time was when we were six. The passcard you 'stole' from me has been disabled. I believe you have found that impersonating me in front of Mr. Holmes is an impossible task. Now, I will escort you out of the building." Face a study in composure, Cassandra set the stack of file folders she had been carrying on the corner of her employer's desk and moved to stand beside the open office door, one hand still balancing the unfinished cup of tea.

Casting another glance at her cousin's waist-coated employer, Mia was more amused than upset. "Why _does_ she insist on being called Cassandra?" she asked the man, knowing that her cousin would never give her a straight answer.

When the man offered only the enigmatic comment of "She was Caroline yesterday", Mia relented, sighing, and evacuated the office under her cousin's sharp gaze. "At least little Annie's finally found an appropriately genius boss," she muttered to herself, then louder: "Good day, sir."

Cassandra lingered at the door, eying her employer warily. "Mr. Holmes, I trust that while I escort my cousin out, you will not touch the chocolate you have hidden in the hollowed-out book under your desk?"

Mycroft Holmes sighed, lowering his half-empty teacup in acknowledgment. "Of course not, my dear," he murmured as his assistant quietly shut the office door behind her.

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own any part of BBC's_ Sherlock_ or the original works by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

* * *

**Notes:** There goes my attempt at humour.

Also, to clarify: in this story, Anthea changes names every day but still acts like Anthea (unlike in the previous chapter)... if that makes any sense at all. Miss Mia Jones is Anthea's cousin. "Annie" is simply a nickname- interpret it however you wish.

Anyways, thank you for reading! Many thanks to those who have reviewed or favourited this story as well. :)


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